


it is not so dreadful here

by dropshipheroes



Series: The Seasons of Us [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, Reunion, grounders made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dropshipheroes/pseuds/dropshipheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hush sweeps through the room, and in the sudden stillness Bellamy finds himself sure this whole situation has stolen the last of his sanity. But then the noise picks up again, just one word, a name, repeated over and over again and washing like a wave through the crowd until it has grown from whisper to chant. <i>Clarke…Clarke…Clarke!</i></p>
<p>When she steps out of the parting crowd and up onto the dais, wearing a simple blue tunic and dark leggings tucked into those same worn boots, her golden hair braided round her head like a crown, the world spins and Bellamy’s own voice joins the masses on an exhale. <i>“Clarke.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it is not so dreadful here

It is the first truly hot day of the year, a sign that spring is slowly slipping into summer, when the rider appears on the horizon. Visitors aren’t uncommon per se, but they don’t come often to the camp, not since it and the immediate surrounding forest were officially declared Skai Kru territory nearly a year ago. So this lone rider raises enough of an alert that there is a full contingent of the guard waiting to greet her when she arrives at the gates, and Bellamy makes sure to be among them. Then again he’s always at the gates when someone new arrives, always maybe hoping – just a bit – that this time it will be her.

The rider turns out to be a woman unfamiliar to Bellamy, but whom Octavia seems to know and as his sister doesn’t appear concerned he figures the rider isn’t here to herald a new attack at least. It doesn’t stop him from feeling uneasy at her presence though, and that feeling only grows when she asks for an audience with their leaders.

The group that gathers in the council tent is one that still looks odd to the older members of camp, who sometimes find themselves clinging to memories of the way things were run on the Ark. Though both Kane and Abby are present neither of them wears the pin of chancellor. There is no chancellor any longer, instead it is a true council who decide on camp matters, including Bellamy and Raven in their number.

By the end of the meeting most of the group is smiling, happy at the invitation the messenger has brought to attend the summer solstice festivities at Polis. Their visitor – Caris – seems pleased, assuring them that this is yet another overture for further peace between their people. Bellamy isn’t so sure, something akin to dread still heavy in his gut. He smiles along with everyone else though and tries to enjoy Octavia’s excitement at the prospect of getting to see the grounder capitol after all this time.

For a moment he looks around the room, searching out the one person he knows would understand his hesitance to trust this as a good thing, but as always her face is just a ghost in his own mind. Clarke has been gone nearly two years now, and while he looks for her less often with every passing season, there are still times like this one that he wishes desperately for her presence at his side, for the silent accord of thoughts between them. He misses that kind of understanding nearly as much as he misses the girl herself, but he’s survived this long without it so he doesn’t let himself dwell and instead dons a tight smile for the assemblage and focuses on the matter at hand of deciding who will make the journey in three weeks time.

***

In the end it is only a handful of people besides himself that make up their party, including Kane, both Millers, Octavia and Echo. Abby stays behind to run the day to day, and though she feigns disappointment Bellamy thinks she’s just as happy staying put. Clarke’s mom has long since stopped looking around every corner for her daughter, but Bellamy wonders if there isn’t a part of her that is afraid to leave camp and the one place Clarke knows to find her if she ever decides it’s time to return. Lincoln, who is getting left home as well, is less pleased. He isn’t exactly an outcast among the grounders these days but his presence at the capitol could be polarizing which is pretty much the opposite of what they are all hoping for, so in the interest of diplomacy he stays despite his frustration.

The trip to Polis takes them three days thanks to the thick forest and rocky terrain along their path and Bellamy is miserable for every single moment of the journey. Mostly it’s due to the necessity of making the trip on horseback, as he’s never quite gotten the hang of the beasts. Octavia teases him at first, as always near gleeful to point out the ways she continues to adapt better to the ground than he does, but by the end of the day even she winces sympathetically when he sits gingerly beside her on a log at their evening campfire, saddle sore and cranky in equal measure. 

“Remind me again why we’re riding for three fucking days, both ways I might add, just to spend _two nights_ in Polis?” he grumps, the rough bark digging into his ass not doing his mood any favors.

Octavia rolls her eyes at his tone. “This isn’t nearly the hardest thing we’ve ever done to maintain peace,” she reminds him. “Besides, don’t you want to see more of the world Bell? You’ve been stuck in that camp for two years, it’s time to start looking past those walls.”

It’s a tired argument between them by now, especially since O has her own ideas about what’s still tying him to that place. She doesn’t understand that he doesn’t stay for the reasons Abby does, but because he still has a promise to keep. The remaining delinquents are growing up, doing well, but they aren’t totally safe yet and he doesn’t trust Kane and Abby or even the rest of the council to watch out for his people the way he does. The way she asked him to. Maybe someday when Harper can go a week without a nightmare or there’s a month when Monty doesn’t end up spending at least one night out on the wall just staring into the darkness, maybe then he’ll think about moving on, exploring. Right now he’s where he needs to be.

Octavia isn’t gonna want to hear that answer now anymore than she wanted to hear it the last time they had this discussion, and he’s not in the mood to fight with her tonight anyway, so he gives her his best smirk and teases, “Veni, vidi, vici sister, what else is there in the world for me now?”

She can’t help but laugh and so he knows he’s won this round, at least for now. He grins, not just at the victory but at the simple joy of being able to sit with her around a fire making terrible jokes in Latin, the both of them free in a way he had once thought completely out of reach. His mood only improves when O is nice enough to dig her extra saddle blanket from her pack and bring it to him to sit on for the rest of the evening after listening to him whine for nearly half an hour - a rare show of tolerance that would have impressed their mother.

Echo is less patient with him when they are lying in their tent that night, not even his obvious exhaustion dissuading her from demanding he take care of her needs. Not that he minds much, especially when she makes the concession of being on top, riding him with a skill he envies when he thinks of the miles still ahead of them. When the both of them are sated she rolls onto her side like she always does, but she doesn’t protest when he puts an arm across her waist and in the morning she brings him his breakfast by the fire so that he doesn’t have to stand to get it. Even this small bit of domesticity is more than she will usually allow him, and it makes Bellamy’s worry about what is waiting for them in the capitol a little bit heavier.

By the time they reach Polis, late in the afternoon on the third day, he is so goddamned glad to be off of a horse that he nearly misses the majesty of the city spread out before them. And a city it is, brick and mortar buildings lining a warren of streets and alleys, some in ruins, yes, but a surprising number intact. At the heart of the city one structure stands out, its domed tower thrusting up into the skyline and cutting through the colors of the setting sun. When the fading golden light hits it just right it looks almost as if it is on fire and Bellamy finds himself a little breathless at the sight after all.

Caris, who is still serving as their guide for the time being, doesn’t take them far into the city though, explaining that they will stay the night in one of the guest houses near the front gates. However, despite his fatigue Bellamy is itching to explore by the time they reach their quarters and as no one has explicitly told him he _can’t_ look around a little bit he slips out a side door and back into the gathering shadows of the street. Octavia catches his eye as he goes, and while he wouldn’t usually mind her company he is grateful when she winks and lets him leave without her. He supposes by now she’s used to his need to be on his own sometimes.

The streets aren’t exactly deserted but they do continue to empty as night falls around him, and soon Bellamy is truly alone as he wanders. The darkness doesn’t hinder him for long, the windows of the surrounding buildings lighting up as the residents within start their fires and light their lamps for the evening. It gives the whole place a kind of magic, these flickering lights in the darkness with the moon rising above him and a warm breeze chasing the scent of night blooming plants down the alleyways. He finds himself grinning like a fool as he wanders, and even indulges his overactive imagination by pretending for a time he is walking through the streets of ancient Rome. It isn’t really all that similar, he’s read enough history books to know, but it is closer than the Ark or any forest ever could be so he let’s himself have the dream for a few long minutes. 

In the end he is snapped out of his pretending when he finds himself turning to share some useless historical fact with a companion who isn’t there, and realizes it isn’t just the setting he’s been imagining in his mind but the company too. He’s not sure what it is about this place that has drawn the fantasy of her up so vividly after all this time, he certainly hasn’t gotten this lost in the thought of her in ages, but somehow this city makes the missing of her a sharp thing once more, lodged just beneath his sternum. 

He shakes the feeling off determinedly, but some of the magic goes with it too and all at once he is simply tired again. When he gets back to the guesthouse everyone else is already asleep, including Echo. She’s laid his bedroll out on the straw pallet beside hers though, and he isn’t sure why but it makes him feel guilty as he slides under the covers and drapes an arm over her side.

***

In the morning Caris comes to wake them early, and after a quick breakfast of dark bread and fruit they make their way back onto the streets to join the throng of people walking toward the domed building where the morning’s first ceremonial gathering is to take place.

Bellamy knows a little of what to expect, Caris has outlined most of it for them on their journey and Echo has filled many of the rest of the gaps. For the most part it seems the purpose of today is to give thanks for the bounty of the season and to reestablish the ties of alliance after the harshness of winter has tested them. There will be speeches and an exchange of gifts - Kane is to deliver the Sky People’s contribution to this, mostly medicine and moonshine (and who would have guessed that Monty’s illicit recipe tweaking back in the dropship camp would serve them so well here.)

Then tonight there is a final ceremony, a trigedasleng named ritual Echo had been able to loosely translate for him as the ‘dance of life’. She’d smiled a little wickedly while saying it though, so he figures it’s probably suggestive enough that it’s gonna be awkward as hell sitting next to his sister while it happens, but at least it’s at the end of the day so he won’t have to look at her for a few hours after. According to Echo the dance is about a final communion between lightness and dark, life and death, the two sides represented by two dancers. The idea is to honor the connection between these two things before the season changes bringing warmth, new life and bounty back to the ground. It sounds familiar enough to Bellamy to have him combing his memories for the myths and stories he used to read to Octavia back on the Ark, but when he asks Echo she just shrugs and says the ceremony has been around as long as she remembers but she knows nothing of its deeper roots.

One thing he hadn’t expected in all of there preparation was just how many people would be here. It makes him a little twitchy, being so surrounded by unknown faces and potential threats, but he grits his teeth and tries to calm his nerves for the sake of diplomacy. They’re going to need it, especially now that he is seeing just how many grounders there must still be in the world if this is only their representative number. He’d thought the army Lexa brought against them all those years ago was big, but it pales in comparison to the two hundred that file into the capitol building and the thousand that fill the streets outside. Caris leads his group inside and Bellamy is at least thankful for that. He’s pretty sure he would have had to risk an incident if she’d tried to make him leave some of them outside with the masses. 

The interior of the building is less dark than he would have imagined, high windows letting in lots of sunshine and a rotunda at the end of the hall filled with light which spills out into the long hall as well. He’s curious about the architecture, wants to wander down into the round room and look up at the dome from the inside, but Echo tugs at his elbow before they are halfway down the hall and turns them instead into a large, square room with an open floor filled with benches and a raised dais in the center.

There are balconies ringed around the walls above them too and when Bellamy glances up he can see them filling with people even as he and his group are ushered further on. They draw quite a few looks of their own, though most of the attention feels curious rather than hostile which is frankly better than Bellamy expected. He’s still not all that comfortable though, and for the first time since arriving thinks longingly of the empty swathes of forest waiting for him back home.

“You have a place of honor,” Caris tells them proudly when she gestures to their seats directly in front of the dais where most of the ceremonies will be conducted. “The alliance makes you welcome among us, Skai Kru.”

Kane smiles his politician’s smile at her and gives her a half bow of thanks that seems to please their guide greatly as the rest of them file down the row to take their seats. “Smile, Mr. Blake,” he whispers in Bellamy’s ear, winking at him when Bellamy squeezes by, and Bellamy realizes he’s let his expression slip a little into it’s more usual grim lines as his eyes catalogue exits and people. He quickly puts a less convincing but equally large grin back on his own face and Kane nods in approval before taking his seat at the end of the row.

The proceedings begin soon after, and though at first Bellamy gives it his rapt attention, soaking it all in, by the second hour he finds that he’s actually a little bored. Octavia is shifting restlessly at his side so he figures he’s not alone in that feeling but he pinches her leg all the same, fighting a grin when she bites back a yelp. He’s not quite so pleased with himself when she digs her knuckles into his thigh hard enough to make the muscle seize, especially as she has timed it during an especially solemn part of the proceedings so he has to grit his teeth against the pain and resist the near desperate urge to stand up and shake it off. She gives him big eyes, all faux innocence when he glares at her, and even through the pain he can’t help but feel a little fond. 

Kane does his part an hour or so after that, going up onstage with the ambassadors from the other twelve clans and exchanging token gifts using his still shaky trigedasleng. The real sharing of resources will happen behind the scenes, already prepared offerings waiting in carts to be split up amongst the clans, but this part is the show and Kane plays his role to a tee. 

Afterward they break for lunch, and Bellamy is more than ready to get some fresh air and stretch his legs. Echo’s hand has been creeping steadily up his thigh for the last half hour too, and he’s contemplating the feasibility of sneaking off for a different kind of break when Caris comes over to their group with another grounder in tow, looking pleased. Echo stiffens at his side for a moment when she sees the women approach, and even when she relaxes again Bellamy feels his apprehension heightened.

“This is Mica,” Caris tells them nodding to her companion. They all mumble through a round of hellos quickly, as it is obvious the other woman isn’t here just to pay a social call. Mica confirms this quickly, in a mix of trigedasleng and English that Bellamy struggles to keep up with. Essentially what it comes down to is this: the clans would like to honor the Skai Kru by allowing one of their number to participate in the final ceremony, the ‘dance of life’.

Both grounder women are smiling at them now like this is a big deal but the dread in Bellamy’s stomach has grown to a boulder’s weight and the raised eyebrow and scowl Miller is directing the grounders way means he’s feeling the same. Octavia mostly looks curious, though there is a tightness in her shoulders that reminds Bellamy she isn’t naïve and hasn’t been for a long time. Echo is still and silent beside him, and though she is only mildly expressive at the best of times he can’t help but feel like this isn’t as much of a surprise to her as it is to the rest of them. Only Kane seems pleased which is fine by Bellamy, let him participate in this freaky dance thing if he’s so excited about it.

Unfortunately, because it is just their luck, Kane turns out not to be a viable candidate, at least not according to Mica. Their candidate of choice though is not so willing.

“Why exactly can’t Kane do it?” Bellamy asks when they all turn to look at him, hoping none of his rising panic has seeped into his tone as the feeling of an invisible noose tightening around his neck sets in. Mica and Caris look at each other and then at the group but neither of them offers an explanation and Bellamy’s temper is just about to break when Echo speaks up.

“It’s about virility,” she says bluntly, “Most here will think Kane too old to represent that. You on the other hand…” Understanding sweeps through their group, and though Bellamy can feel his own cheeks heating Kane looks more amused than offended. Miller’s dad looks pretty fucking amused too for that matter, and he’s nearly certain Miller’s own sudden coughing fit isn’t due to allergies. Damn them.

When it’s clear no one else is going to speak up to stop this Bellamy pleads his own case. “Look, I don’t even know the steps to this dance, you can’t expect me to learn it by tonight.”

Mica and Caris are the ones giggling now, though they shut up when Echo glares their way. When she turns to look at Bellamy her face is carefully composed. “I can promise you that you do know this dance,” she says pointedly. It takes him a moment to get it, and when he does it isn’t a pleasant feeling. 

“They want me to have sex with someone,” he says eventually when the silence gets too heavy and his anger is threatening to break free again. It’s more statement than question, because he already knows the answer. “In front of everyone.”

Echo nods and the rest of his group goes stoic.

“And if I refuse?”

She hesitates, glancing at the two other grounder women again. “That would be a very bad thing to do if you want to maintain this alliance.” 

For a long moment Bellamy watches her for some sign of how she feels about this, but her face is a blank mask that betrays nothing. They haven’t really discussed what this thing between them is, not since she walked through the camp gates nearly six months ago and took up residence in his tent. Some days he thinks he’s just a pastime for her, someone to get off with and a warm body beside her at night. Other times he wonders if he’s stumbled into something more serious than he signed up for. He isn’t sure which scares him more, and for that reason alone he’s avoided the discussion for this long. Now though it feels important to know what she is thinking, if only so he can start planning how to deal with the fallout. 

She only stares steadily back, waiting for his response, and shame settles over him as he realizes he is more worried about dealing with her anger than about hurting her. Worse that if she were not standing beside him he might not have considered her at all when weighing the pros and cons of going along with this thing.

He must take too long in his study of her because Mica clears her throat behind him to draw his attention. “We may be able to persuade the clans to hold the ceremony privately, so it is just you and your partner,” she says kindly, like that is his only issue with this thing. It’s not an insignificant part of his issue though, so he doesn’t shoot down the suggestion.

Everyone is watching him, waiting, and no one is laughing anymore. For one brief moment he thinks about making a run for it but discards the idea before it is even fully formed. He’s done worse things than this, others have done worse, to assure them a place in this alliance. He won’t throw away those sacrifices because of his own distaste for a ceremony, especially since it isn’t anything he hasn’t done before, albeit never under these circumstances. It’s been a while since Bellamy has done the casual hook up thing, but this is essentially the same idea all gussied up in the name of ritual, right? If that’s all he has to do how can he say no?

“Just me and the girl, no audience,” he says firmly, glaring at Mica until she nods in agreement. When he gets that he sighs, the last of his objections buried under the burden of survival. “Okay then,” he says, “Somebody better tell me exactly what I’m gonna need to know.”

The tension he hadn’t even noticed building bleeds out of the group immediately, and that’s how Bellamy knows this is the right thing to do. Echo smiles stiffly at him from his side and proceeds to explain the finer points of the ceremony to him without ever meeting his eye.

***

There isn’t really that much to it, as it turns out. When the break is over and they all head back inside Bellamy just walks the few extra steps to the dais instead, where he’ll be presented along with his ‘partner’ to the assembled group. That’s it until this evening, when he’ll have to report back to the capitol building to perform the rest of his duties. Mica tells him there will be time enough to explain the details later, the rituals for before, the words to say after. She isn’t totally clear on what this will entail but he’s in too far to back out now so he mostly tries not to worry about it until the time comes.

Even that resolve doesn’t stop him from fidgeting while he waits, only stilling when Octavia shoots him a warning glare. At least he won’t have to worry about her watching him perform in this stupid ceremony. He’s not sure he could have handled that. 

Soon enough the grounder on stage who’s been running this whole show (a master of ceremonies for all intents and purposes according to Echo) is calling him up to stand before the crowd. A cheer goes up, and under other circumstances that might feel flattering to his ego but mostly it just makes Bellamy want out of this whole thing. The grounder MC says a few more words, makes Bellamy turn slowly so that the whole damn assembly can get a good fucking look at him, and then pushes him to one side so that he can announce the other half of this whole proceeding.

Bellamy tries very hard not to have any expectations about the girl they might call up here with him, but even in his cynicism it never occurred to him just how bad it could be.

The girl that steps forward out of the crowd can’t be more than fifteen. She has the hard eyed look of a warrior but there is a defiant tilt to her chin that reminds Bellamy of Octavia at that age, posturing bravely in the face of her own fear. His stomach turns sickly and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to start a war here after all because there is _no way_ , no matter what his refusal costs them. 

When he looks over to his group he sees his shock mirrored on their faces. Miller is the first to catch his eye, and the resolve in his friend’s gaze steadies him. He won’t be alone in fighting his way out at least. He meets Miller’s dad’s gaze next and it holds the same steady support as his son’s. Echo looks less surprised than the rest of them but unhappy nevertheless and Kane is simply staring in openmouthed disbelief. Bellamy can’t even look at Octavia, doesn’t want to have the image of her face burned in his mind at this moment.

The MC has noticed something is wrong by now, his mouth turning down into a displeased scowl as he moves towards Bellamy once more and Bellamy is trying to think of some kind of diplomatic way to object, determined to at least _try_ to find a peaceful way through this before it devolves into a physical fight, but his mind is terrifyingly blank. He finds himself irrationally thinking of Clarke, wishing she were here to help him out of this mess. Which makes it really fucking surreal when her once-familiar voice echoes out into the tense silence.

“I would take her place.”

A hush sweeps through the room, and in the sudden stillness Bellamy finds himself sure this whole situation has stolen the last of his sanity. But then the noise picks up again, just one word, a name, repeated over and over again and washing like a wave through the crowd until it has grown from whisper to chant. _Clarke…Clarke…Clarke!_

When she steps out of the parting crowd and up onto the dais, wearing a simple blue tunic and dark leggings tucked into those same worn boots, her golden hair braided round her head like a crown, the world spins and Bellamy’s own voice joins the masses on an exhale. _“Clarke.”_

He can hardly believe she is here, standing before him, a legend made life. Only now seeing her again does he realizes just how imperfect his memory has been, how it has failed to hold onto the exact blue of her eyes or the shape of her smile. And she _is_ smiling, just a quirk at the corner of her lips though the rest of her expression is grave. 

“Hello Bellamy,” she says after a moment when he continues simply to stare. Her words are quiet, just for the two of them, and there is so much behind them besides a simple greeting. He doesn’t have time to decide how those unspoken things make him feel, not with all the gathered grounder nations staring on in rapt fascination, but before he can even process enough to return the greeting she’s turned away from him, smiling with all of her teeth at the stunned MC standing beside them. 

“I assume this is acceptable to you? That I take her place?” she asks with a nod to the young girl still on stage. She phrases it as a question but her tone makes it imminently clear she isn’t really asking at all. 

The grounder shakes himself out of his stunned stupor and nods quickly. “It would be an honor, Clarke of the Sky People.” He doesn’t look thrilled to be speaking the words, but he does look a little scared. Considering that even Bellamy’s camp has heard the increasingly wild tales of Clarke Griffin, the girl who defeated the Mountain alone, Bellamy almost feels a little sorry for the guy. He’s probably half convinced if he says no Clarke will slaughter them all with a wave of her hand.

Clarke nods once confirming the deal, a tightness around her mouth that Bellamy recognizes as the only outward sign of her unhappiness. It makes him ache to think of the weight she must still carry, to know what it must have cost her to stand here and use the legend sprung from the worst of her nightmares to save them all again, but he can’t say he’s sorry to see her. Can’t say he’s sorry to have been saved. He just hopes the cost of those memories isn’t as high as it once was for her.

She turns back to him then and her expression softens a little, her eyes darting between his own like she’s searching for something she isn’t sure she’ll find. If Bellamy knew what that something was he’d give it to her, or at least he’d try, but he’s still reeling a little from the shock of it all and so he’s pretty sure he’s gonna disappoint. She doesn’t look disappointed, but her eyes shutter again after a moment and she takes a small step back.

“I guess I’ll see you tonight then,” she says, and her voice is just a little strained. It’s that more than anything that snaps him out of it, the sound of her uncertainty humanizing her and reminding him that this is _Clarke_ , not a memory and not a legend, just simply Clarke, who he has missed terribly.

“Yeah, I guess you will,” he croaks, throat tight with the sudden swell of emotion. He manages a shaky smile of his own, mostly because it isn’t until she’s started to descend the steps back to the floor that he remembers what, exactly, that next meeting will consist of.

The room is in an uproar of excited whispering, and clearly whatever part of the ceremony was happening here is over for the moment at least so Bellamy is pretty sure he won’t undo all of Clarke’s efforts if he sits down for a minute. He manages to get to the side of the stage before he collapses, is vaguely aware of the young girl hurrying back into the crowd looking more relieved than insulted which is a good. Octavia is the first to reach him, hands on her hips and disbelief warring with something harder, sadder, in her eyes.

“Well,” she says, “That was unexpected.”

Bellamy is pretty sure that’s the understatement of the century, but ain’t it the fucking truth.

***

“You knew, didn’t you?”

He catches Echo’s arm just outside the doors to the assembly room, tugging her into a corner away from the crowd while whispering furiously in her ear. “About this whole ceremony, about me being asked to participate, all of it, didn’t you?”

He’d suspected earlier, figured she was hiding something about the proceedings, and honestly he had been content to let it slide even after finding out about the ceremony. After all, she may be his, well, his _something_ , but she is and always has been a grounder first, and they do not share their secrets easily. But if she knew they were going to try and send a child up on that stage with him…

Echo shrugs but won’t meet his eye. “I didn’t know they would ask you, not for sure, but it was always a possibility.” She admits it easily, her voice cool and detached like he is nothing more to her than another sky person. But when she looks at him finally there is something harder in her eyes, more personal, and she adds firmly, “I did not know who they would pick to partner you.”

Bellamy believes her. She looks angry, which satisfies the still simmering rage in his own chest from the near disaster, and it makes him feel better to know that her moral code is not so different than his as to have found the choice acceptable. Her anger does make him wonder though about the motivations of those who orchestrated this whole thing. The more he thinks about it the more likely it seems it was designed to trap him into a refusal that could have restarted hostilities. It’s a theory deserving of some looking into, especially as it is not clear whether it was a specific clan or just a few disgruntled grounders manipulating the situation - and while either is potentially dangerous one is more easily handled than the other.

Echo tugs at her arm still caught in his grasp and Bellamy finally drops it with a sigh, running his hand over his face as he tries to pull his temper back under control. It’s not Echo’s fault, he tells himself, not that he’s been roped into this thing, not that there is a potential new threat right under his nose, and not that Clarke has showed up to make it all that much more complicated. 

Still, he can’t help wishing he hadn’t walked into this quite so blind. “Why didn’t you warn me about any of what you did know?” he asks lowly, mindful of the crowds filling the space and pressing in closer as the hall empties.

She shrugs again, more stiffly this time, her arms crossed defensively in front of her body. “Knowing would not have changed anything, and this way you did not have time to do something stupid.”

He glares at her for that but a part of him wonders if she is right. What would he have done with the warning? Not come? Risked the alliance to find a way out of it? Or would they have both ended up right back here, with him feeling just as frustrated and helpless as he does now? He doesn’t know and worrying about it right this moment isn’t doing him any good. “Next time tell me anyway,” he says tiredly and Echo tilts her head in what he hopes is agreement.

They stand quietly for a few moments, crushed close in the press of bodies around them as the crowds start to drift en masse to the exits, and there is a tension between them that Bellamy is nearly certain isn’t just from him. When the hallway is emptier Echo confirms this, asking quietly, “Are you happy she is here?”

And isn’t that a complicated question? She can only mean Clarke, and whatever else Echo might be feeling about this whole ‘dance of life’ nonsense it is abundantly clear that Clarke’s presence makes her unhappy. Bellamy wonders if it is just a general wariness of the girl or if he’s so transparent that she can see how much it affects him having seen Clarke after all this time. Either way he can tell that what she wants to know is not just if he is glad to see Clarke, but if he is looking forward to tonight now that it is with her, if her return will change anything, if Clarke is still someone he values - as friend, as partner, as _more_. Bellamy doesn’t know how to answer all of that for her, doesn’t know yet if Clarke’s appearance is a new start or just a brief blast from the past. Doesn’t know how he feels, how she would fit into his life, if she even cares at all about anything besides keeping her old friends from starting a war over a silly ritual. 

So it takes him a moment to speak, but in the end despite all of this the answer is simple. “Yes,” he says softly, honestly, “I’m happy she’s here.”

Echo nods, like she thought as much, and he expects her to close down again or maybe even walk away. Instead she surprises him by stepping close and kissing him, rough and a little angry, a little claiming. When he doesn’t kiss back immediately she bites his lip hard enough that he tastes blood when he finally reciprocates. She gentles when he responds, but even without her anger behind it the kiss feels wrong, forced in a way it has never been between them, and he pulls away before long. If she is displeased at him for stopping it she doesn’t show it though, her face carefully composed once again.

“You should go back to the guest house,” she says, her words forcedly indifferent. “You’ll want time to bathe before the ritual.”

Bellamy doesn’t really know what to say to that, feels suddenly as if he is in a minefield like the one Murphy described when he returned from the desert, and that any answer he gives will be the wrong one. “You coming with me then?” he asks, not sure what he hopes to hear.

Echo shakes her head. “Caris has asked me to visit with her Kru tonight.”

He wonders if the invitation is purposeful, to keep Echo company while Bellamy is off sleeping with another woman. He doesn’t ask though, mostly grateful that he will be relieved of the guilt of imagining her sitting alone back at the guest house all night waiting for him. “Well, uh, have fun I guess,” he says lamely, for lack of better words to give her.

She smirks at him, but it isn’t as casual or as sharp as it usually is. “You too,” she says and then she turns, sauntering away before he can decipher the final look she throws his way as she goes.

***

The sun is setting behind him as Bellamy runs a hand through his still-damp hair once more, trying to screw up the courage to take the last few steps inside. He knows he can’t stay out here much longer, if for no other reason than he’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous wearing nothing but the loose pair of cotton pants he’d been assured were ceremonial. Mica had told him a little more about the ceremony when she brought them, had explained that he and Clarke have from sunset until the moon hits it’s zenith to complete the ritual, and on the shortest night of the year that isn’t a lot of time. Hell with the sun disappearing over the horizon he’s running late already, but it still feels awfully hard to move his feet up the steps in front of him knowing what is waiting for him inside.

It’s just, seeing Clarke earlier had been such a surprise he hadn’t had much time to even think. Now though he’s had a whole afternoon of nothing _but_ time, and all that it’s done is allowed him to work himself into a frankly embarrassing state of nerves. 

It isn’t just the stupid ceremony though, instead it is just the fact of seeing her again, talking to her, having her close enough to touch, that he doesn’t know how to deal with. Especially not when that whole ‘having her close enough to touch’ part is about to get very fucking literal. And yet despite all this he’s going to have to go inside eventually, and he finally gets sick enough of his own cowardice to do it. 

The building seems larger now that it is emptied out and he winces at the echoing sound of his own footsteps as he travels the hallway to the base of the large staircase halfway down. He’s been told there’s a smaller room at the top, one that’s been set up for the modified version of the ceremony promised to him, and he lets his momentum keep him moving upwards even though it is awfully tempting to waste a little more time downstairs. The door he’s looking for is cracked, a flickering light reflecting into the hallway around the edge, and when he pushes it open fully he finds himself breathless for the second time in as many days.

Clarke is sitting on a low bed in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a thin white shift and bathed in firelight. Her hair gleams a darker gold, likely still damp from a bath of her own, and is pulled back in a more intricate set of braids than this morning. She looks like every one of his wildest dreams and that sharpness in his chest that has always had her name on it hasn’t ever felt more wonderful and terrifying all at once than it does now.

But then she glances up when he shuts the door behind him, his own nervousness mirrored back at him in her expression, and when she bites her lip and gives him one of her half smiles she is just his Clarke again and everything settles into place. 

“Hi,” she says eventually, eyes bright with a look that tells him she knows exactly how weird this whole thing is.

Bellamy can’t help but grin tentatively back. “Hi.”

She scoots a little to make room, patting the bed beside her for him to sit. He does, keeping a careful few inches of space between them. If she notices she doesn’t comment, her eyes locked on his face like she is drinking him in as he does the same to her. 

“How have you been?” he asks finally, unable to hold back the question any longer and hating that is sounds like small talk when in reality it’s the only thing he really wants to hear about. Clarke smiles at him though, so he knows she understands he isn’t just asking to fill the silence.

“Better.” Her eyes are clear and honest at the word, her voice soft and sincere in a way that makes his chest feel tight. “I’m doing better.”

“That’s, ah, that’s good,” he manages, the words only a little strangled for being forced past the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m glad.”

She dips her head in acknowledgement, a gesture that is almost shy in a way he doesn’t remember her ever being before, but when she meets his eye again the curiosity and genuine concern there is familiar. “And you?” she asks quietly, “How have you been Bellamy?”

It’s a loaded question, one that he could probably spend all night – and many more after that – answering for her, two years worth of trials and triumphs, loss and joy, all of which she’s missed. And he _wants_ to share it with her, wants to tell her all of it, even the parts where he felt lost and angry, even the times those things felt like her fault. But he doesn’t know how to begin, and isn’t even sure it’s the moment for it anyway. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he contemplates an answer he can give her, but all he comes up with is, “Good, I’ve been good.”

The smile she gives him is blinding and more than his poor answer deserves. “I’m glad,” she says, repeating his own words back to him sincerely. “That’s all I ever wanted for you, for all of you, you know?”

He nods, not knowing how to tell her it’s all he ever wanted for her too and now that she is here, alive and okay in a way he once thought she might never be, it doesn’t even matter that she had to do it alone. It’s the reason he let her go without a fight in the first place after all, so she could find this for herself again even if she couldn’t do it by his side. They watch each other for a long time, adjusting, he thinks, to the simple reality of each other’s presence, but eventually the fire pops loudly and reminds him why exactly they are here. 

Clarke laughs when they both jump at the noise, a self-deprecating sound that helps set him at ease. He can do this, _they_ can do this. It’s just Clarke, even if the past two years have made her partly a stranger. Once upon a time they were so in sync all it took was a look to communicate, a flick of her eyes or a touch of his fingers to let each other know what was needed. There has to be some of that left between them, even after all this time.

“How about a drink?” she offers, her mouth still tilted up in a grin even as her laughter fades. Bellamy nods and she stands to walk to a small table he’d missed when he entered the room, caught up as he had been in the image she presented. There’s a stone jug atop it and Clarke pours a heavy draft of liquid into the two earthen cups beside it before returning to the bed with the cups in her hands and a dish balanced on top that holds a few strips of jerky, some berries and two wafer thin discs a honey brown color that he cannot identify.

He pokes at one curiously and Clarke bites back a grin, popping one of the little circles into her own mouth and holding the other out for him. He takes the proffered round hesitantly, only raising it to his lips when she raises an eyebrow. It seems he’s still unable to back down from one of her challenges. It is sweet, overwhelmingly so, and starts to melt as soon as it hits his tongue. He makes a face as he swallows, unsure of how he feels about the taste. 

“It’s maple sugar,” Clarke tells him, her voice warm and sounding a little like she’s trying not to laugh at him, but despite this he finds himself grinning back at her.

“Sugar huh? I didn’t know that still had that sort of thing down here.”

Clarke shrugs. “One of the northern clans makes it, there are entire forests of maple trees in their territory and in the winter they have this whole system of buckets and spiles to collect the sap. It’s pretty amazing.” She pauses then adds, “You know, if I’ve learned anything these last few years it’s to never underestimate what might still be out there.” 

There are stories there, things he wants to hear about even if he isn’t sure he’s allowed to ask her. Despite his curiosity he doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to ask for more than she is willing to give, not yet, and so to still the questions nearly tripping off his tongue he drinks, recognizing the taste of dandelion wine as he swallows. It cuts sharply through the lingering sweetness of the sugar and the two flavors together aren’t actually all that bad. He’s about to say as much to her, mostly to say _something_ before the moment can get awkward, but Clarke speaks first, her hands wrapped tight around her own cup and her eyes no longer quite meeting his.

“Do you hate me?”

They’ve always been honest with each other if nothing else, so he tells her the truth. “I was angry, for a while. When you didn’t come back.”

He remembers that feeling even if it is more than a year past. It had been a tense time in camp which hadn’t helped but mostly he had just been tired – tired of missing her and tired of hoping and tired of being disappointed when nothing came of it all. Even at his angriest she’d never been far from his thoughts though, and in the end he’d figured out that being mad at her was just another way of missing her, and so he’d let go of the darkness. Hadn’t stopped missing her, that was just a fact of life, but he’d stopped being so furious about it.

Clarke nods, accepts this like it’s something she’s earned. “I’m not now,” he adds, needing her to accept that part too. “And I don’t think I could ever hate you Clarke.”

She smiles again and though it isn’t quite as bright it’s still genuine. “Well that’s good, or tonight would have been really awkward.” 

This more than anything else, her ability to joke about even the bad stuff, is how he knows she’s different than when she left. She may still be shouldering the burden of her past but it doesn’t define her like it used to. He’s glad of that, glad that the hole in his life these past few years where she was supposed to be hasn’t been for nothing. He takes another long swallow of his wine, watches her do the same, and thinks how very strange a place the world is that this is how they meet again. And maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or the way the firelight looks against her hair, but it doesn’t feel as crazy as it ought too. 

“You know I think this whole ceremony is based around a Greek myth,” he tells her suddenly, to stop himself from just staring at her too long more than anything. Clarke raises a skeptical eyebrow but he presses on, unable to help himself now that he’s started. “It is! The myth of Persephone.”

“I actually know that one, I think,” she says, clearly pleased with herself for the knowledge. “Isn’t she the girl that gets stolen by the underworld guy?”

“Hades,” he corrects, setting his empty cup aside so he can talk with his hands as he gets into it. “And it wasn’t as simple as all of that.”

“Is it ever?” she teases him. She puts her own cup aside and scoots a little closer to him, pretending rapt attention. “So tell me Professor Blake, what is the story really about?”

She’s teasing him and he knows it but he can’t help but spin her the story anyway. It’s been awhile since he’s told it, not since Octavia was still a dangerous secret back on the Ark, and so he wends his way through several versions of the tale, picking and choosing the parts he wants for her to hear. The way he tells it is probably (definitely) more romantic than the original myth, but he cannot help himself here either because he’s always found it to _be_ a little romantic, and tragic too, at least the way some poets tell it. Of course Clarke being Clarke, whose scientific head sometimes overrules her heart, only latches on to one thing. 

“Well all these clans are going to feel awfully foolish when you tell them they based their summer rites around a spring myth,” she teases, clearly baiting him, and though Bellamy sighs at her total missing of the point he can’t say he hasn’t wondered about that himself.

He shrugs and gives her the only answer he’s come up with for it. “Lots of stuff got shifted after the world ended, even the seasons down here aren’t quite the same. And stories are adaptable you know?” Clarke doesn’t look like that’s enough for her, and he rolls his eyes. “Or maybe the only people left who knew about Greek mythology were too busy fighting for their lives to remember correctly.”

Clarke hums a little laugh at that and shrugs herself. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter all that much. It’s not like I’d make a good Persephone anyway, considering she’s all about the light and me…not so much.” 

There is something almost sad in her voice even though she’s still smiling, and he thinks about reminding her that in his version of the tale Persephone isn’t only lightness at all, that she is instead a creature with one foot in both worlds who rules by Hades’ side as his queen not his captive. He wants to tell her that despite Persephone’s own darkness she has always been Hades’ light, has always made him less dark himself by virtue of her sharing in it. Mostly Bellamy recognizes in himself the desire to make the story about the two of them, because he’s an idiot who’s maybe always been a little in love with her after all. But he doesn’t do any of this, for in the end Persephone always leaves - maybe not forever but for long enough – and he doesn’t want that to be their story anymore.

So instead he kisses her.

Her lips are still against his own for a few agonizingly long seconds but before he can pull away she sighs, a gentle exhale that parts her lips against his, and kisses him back. It’s slow at first, tentative, but even this gentle press of her mouth to his is enough to have his blood singing through his veins in a way that has nothing to do with dandelion wine. His hands are framing her face, thumbs stroking along her cheeks, her jaw, and she sighs again, opening up further to the kiss. When his tongue slips softly against her own it’s electric and he can’t help but groan at the feeling, at the taste of her. It feels like coming home.

Her mouth is sweet from the sugar, soft and warm and willing when he deepens the kiss. There’s an urgency building in him too quickly that he feels reflected in the sharp clutch of her fingers on his arm and the little noises she is making as she kisses back now with less finesse and more need. But he doesn’t want to rush this, even if they are working on borrowed time, so he forces himself to gentle his mouth, to savor where he wants to devour. Eventually he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, desperately trying to hold on to that thin thread of control and pressing his forehead to hers as they both breathe heavily into the small space between them.

“Okay?” Clarke asks, and Bellamy can’t help but feel a little pleased by how breathless she sounds. He nods, the tip of his nose bumping against hers gently with the movement, and it wouldn’t take more than an inch to press his mouth back to hers. He doesn’t close the distance yet though, still reeling at the intimacy just sharing air with her brings and wanting to hold on to this small thing for a little longer before it all gets swept up in the rest of what is to come.

Eventually he moves away, her hands tightening briefly on him at the motion, but he isn’t going far just leaning back enough to look at her properly. His hands still frame her face and his thumbs stroke over her cheeks, tracing the edges of heated pink lingering under her skin. When he slides his hands back along her neck and up into her hair she leans in to kiss him again but he holds her off for a moment, instead pulling at the crude pins holding her braids in place. His fingers undo the twists gently, unwinding and unknotting with a patience he wasn’t sure he was capable of. But he’s dreamt of this, just this, running fingers through her hair as she stares at him with that soft, wonder-filled look in her eyes, for so long that he isn’t going to screw it up now by rushing it.

When the last of the braids is undone Bellamy runs his fingers through the loose waves a few more times just to touch, rubs the silkiness of a solitary curl between thumb and forefinger before gathering up handfuls of it in his fists to pull her carefully back into a kiss. This time there is no hesitancy, and when he leans further in she goes willingly back, falling against the bed and bring him with her until he is hovering above her, one hand still tangled in her hair and the other drifting down her side, pushing her shift up until it is bunched at her waist and he can feel the heat of her even through the thin cotton pants he’s still wearing. He should be embarrassed by how hard he is already but he’s too preoccupied by the way her eyes are fluttering shut and her head is tipping back against the bed to dwell.

He kisses her neck, places a line of light, dry kisses from her shoulder to just under her jaw and by the time he’s nosing at the soft dip of skin behind her ear she’s got her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at his curls as she arches under him. He smirks against her skin at the neediness of it until a particularly sharp tug sends a bolt of want in a line directly to his groin and suddenly he’s feeling a lot more needy again himself. His kisses back down the line of her neck are sloppier as he let’s his tongue trace the path, greedy for the taste of her.

At the curve of her shoulder he pauses, sucking the pale skin into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue so that when he pulls back there is a dark red mark left behind. Bellamy isn’t sure what caused the impulse to mark her, except perhaps that this night feels fleeting enough as it is and he wants to leave some proof that it happened behind for tomorrow, when she isn’t next to him any longer. The thought threatens to ruin the mood so he pushes it from his mind and kisses lower instead, skimming the thin cotton strap from her shoulder and tugging the material down further until the fullness of her breast spills out of the material and into his hand, her nipple stiff and peaked already and begging to be covered with his mouth. 

Bellamy is only human so he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about her perfect tits before. In fact, even back when they could hardly stand each other there were more than a few nights he’d gotten off to the mental picture of them, whether it be a fantasy about them bouncing in his face while he fucked her, or a memory of the way they filled out her threadbare shirts til they were practically spilling over of the material. Hell even the idea of them bound up in a god awful Ark-issued bra was a sure starter for him back then. Needless to say, having the actual thing in front of him, being able to look and touch and taste, is a little overwhelming.

He’ll be damned if he’s not up to the task of worshipping them though and gets to it quickly, running his tongue around the dusky skin surrounding her nipple in slow, maddening circles until she makes a huffy noise and uses her hand in his hair to pull his mouth right where she wants it. He obliges, sucking hard until she’s keening under him, and when he pulls away his hand is there to take the place of his mouth so that he can kiss across her chest to the other side to pay the same attention there.

For a while he gets lost in just this, the way she tastes and moves and sounds as he kisses and licks and sucks at her breasts, and Bellamy wants to take his time with all of it, wants to find all the different ways to make her fall apart, wants to touch and taste every inch of her that she’ll let him have, but time is ticking away and as much as he hates the reminder that this is all a one time deal orchestrated by a fucked up universe all it takes is one glance at the sky outside on of the high windows and he knows he can’t spend the time he wants here. So this time when he bites gently at her nipple, making her hips buck up against him, he drags his fingertips along the smooth skin of her thigh, pulls him mouth away and presses his lips to the hollow of her throat to feel the vibration of her moan when he reaches her core, fingers strumming lightly through the wetness he finds there waiting for him.

When he pushes a finger inside her tight heat she sighs his name and he has to grit his teeth to keep from coming from nothing more than this. She shifts restlessly against him when he is still for too long, and the movement is enough to focus him again. He may not have as much time as he’d like, but he is determined to use what he does to make this good for her.

He has two fingers steadily working in and out, his thumb circling tight and hard against her clit, when she stops him with her small hand on his wrist. “What’s wrong?” he asks quickly, breathlessly, starting to pull away. The movement makes her arch up against him again, her breath stuttering out, and she shakes her head.

“Nothing, nothing, I just…I’m going to-“

“Kinda the point isn’t it?” he can’t help but tease, even though his heart is in his throat and his dick is almost painfully hard at the thought.

She swats at him, then shifts and moans when he pumps his fingers back into her in retaliation. Clarke isn’t the type to let him have the upper hand for long though, and he watches her wrestle back control before she nearly breaks his own, the hand still on his wrist dipping under his waistband and her fingers hot and sure when they wrap around him. “Fuck,” he manages.

She laughs and he can feel it where he’s still got his fingers inside her. She feels it too, if her widened eyes are any indication, and she swallows hard, not laughing any more. “I want you inside me when I come,” she whispers with a surety he should have expected of her but is overwhelmingly sexy all the same. 

When she backs the statement up with a firm stroke up his length he has to close his eyes against the sight of her. “I’m not sure I’m gonna make it that long if you keep doing that,” he confesses, his voice cracked with desire. 

Clarke kisses him again then, sloppy and imperfectly perfect, her hand letting him go briefly so she can use both of them to push his pants over his hips far enough for him to kick them off the rest of the way. It’s a bit of a fumbling rush for a moment then, both of them trying to touch everywhere at once, but when she gets her hand back on him and positions him against her heat everything slows.

She’s looking down between them but he needs to see her face in this moment, needs to see her eyes, and so tilts her chin up gently until the blown blue-black of her gaze meets his own. 

“You with me?” he asks, glad his voice sounds steady despite the way every one of his nerves is trembling. When she nods some of the tension he didn’t realize he’d still been holding onto slips away. He doesn’t move right away though, for the first time not preoccupied with worry or desire but simply drinking in the sight of her spread out below him, her hair fanned out across the furs beneath her head and her lip caught between her teeth as she stares back at him. Her cheeks are flushed prettily, her eyes a darker shade of blue than he’s ever seen them before, and he thinks it might have terrified him, this feeling in his chest, if they had done this two years ago, but it doesn’t now.

She surges up to kiss him once more as he pushes into her and he’s pretty sure he’s not gonna survive this but oh what a way to go. Just when he’s as close as he thinks it is possible to get Clarke’s legs fall open wider, letting him sink a little deeper, the change pulling a noise from her that he feels down to his toes, and he decides he _has_ to survive this if only for the slim chance of getting to do it all over again someday. 

After that he doesn’t think for a while.

***

She lies against his chest for a few long minutes after, the both of them catching their breath. Bellamy let’s his fingers drag up and down her back softly, smiling even as his eyes are getting heavy with the pull of sleep. She rolls off of him eventually but he doesn’t let her go far, pulling her into his side so that her head is tucked against his shoulder, her hair tickling his skin. It’s nice, in a way that few things on Earth ever are, and he wishes it wasn’t all so close to ending. Wishes he wasn’t starting to miss her already, with her still in his arms.

But it has to, sooner than later too, and not just because before long a grounder is going to be knocking on the door to make sure they completed the ceremony. It would be easy to pretend that this is the start of something, in fact it’s pretty darn tempting to do so while curled up with her next to the fire, but they’ve barely even spoken in nearly two years now and there are mountains to climb just to get back to where they were let alone to something more. He isn’t even sure she’s ready to go back to Camp Jaha yet, let alone jump into an actual relationship – especially with him. Hell, he doesn’t even know that she’d _want_ a relationship with him, especially considering he isn’t entirely sure he isn’t already in a relationship with someone else.

He doesn’t want to think about that last part though, not with the way Clarke’s still letting him run careful fingers over her skin and through her hair, the way he’s got his lips pressed to the crown of her head. So he tries not to worry about if this night will be anything more to her than another sacrifice for the greater good, tries instead to soak up these last moments without worrying about what comes next. But he doesn’t hold out long before breaking the silence, turning until he’s on his side and they are face to face once more. “Clarke-“ 

He pauses because he was _determined_ not to say anything to push her, and he’s half afraid that if he speaks now he’s going to do something reckless and terrible like beg her to stay this time. But whether it would have been a disaster to speak or not he doesn’t get the chance either way, a staccato rap on the door interrupting the moment and sweeping it away as they scramble to throw their clothes back on before the door opens.

It’s Mica and the MC from earlier (who still looks a little scared of Clarke to be honest). They take in the scene before them with careful eyes, looking from the mussed bed to the disheveled state of Bellamy and Clarke themselves, and it seems enough to satisfy them. “You have honored us with your dance,” the woman says prettily, though the guy behind her merely grunts in acknowledgement.

“We, uh, were honored to participate,” Clarke manages, not meeting Bellamy’s eye. He’s glad she at least seems to remember the way this thing is supposed to go because in the past few hours he’s forgotten every word of the ceremony Mica had drilled into his head. He isn’t sure if Clarke’s words are exactly the ones she is supposed to use, but it seems enough for Mica at least who smiles beatifically at them both before leaving with her companion in tow.

There isn’t much left to say after that, an awkwardness in the air now that Bellamy is too tired to shake. Whatever he was going to say before, the moment has passed, and so they gather the rest of their things in silence until all that’s left to do is walk out the door and back into their separate lives.

“Bellamy,” Clarke starts, looking unsure of what to say herself. She bites her lip, looking down at the ground between them and Bellamy feels his jaw tighten, suddenly sure this is the part where she tells him it was nice and all, thanks for the memories, but she’s going to be going back out into the world now alone. He doesn’t want to hear her say it, doesn’t want her to be the one to say goodbye again.

So he smiles at her as well as he can manage and says, “It was good to see you Clarke,” before she can find words of her own. “I hope…I hope you’ve found what you were looking for out there.”

Something close to pain flashes through her eyes at his words, at the goodbye clear in them, but it is gone as soon as it appeared and she’s nodding at him with a tight smile of her own. His gets a little sadder at that, but maybe more real too, and when he bends to kiss her cheek he lingers for just a moment. Clarke closes her eyes and he can feel the flutter of her lashes against his skin, but he forces his hands to remain by his side instead of grabbing her close like he wants too. “May we meet again,” he whispers in her ear before pulling away.

She keeps her eyes closed as he pulls away and there is the glitter of tears on her lashes, but she doesn’t stop him from walking out the door. He hears her whispered, “ _May we meet again_ ” right before it shuts behind him.

***

Bellamy doesn’t know where he’s going when he steps out onto the street in front of the capitol building, just that he can’t go back to the guest houses and everyone waiting for him there – not yet.

It was harder than he thought it would be, leaving her again, and there is small comfort in knowing it was the right thing to do. No matter how close he had felt to her tonight the truth of the matter was she hadn’t been there entirely of her own free will. She hasn’t come back to him, hasn’t come back at all, and it would be wrong of him to expect anything of her just because of last night, no matter how much he wants to.

He wanders the city again but this time there is no spectre of her walking at his side, just the still-empty space in his chest that’s always been for Clarke, it’s edges freshly ragged once more. By the time the first pink rays of sunlight appear on the horizon he’s come to terms with it though, this odd set of circumstances that has given him one more taste of her, and he doesn’t feel quite as weighted down by their goodbye as he walks back towards his lodging.

Echo is waiting on the front steps for him, and he manages a smile for her even though he knows there is pain here too. “Hey.”

She looks behind him as if expecting Clarke to be trailing after, but when all she sees are shadows her expression softens a little into something uncertain. “It is over?” she asks, and he knows she doesn’t mean just the ceremony but doesn’t really know how to answer her actual question so he hedges.

“We got the all clear from Mica herself.” He can’t quite look at her as he takes a seat beside her on the stoop and he hates himself a little for that. Presses on to fill the silence anyway. “Looks like the alliance is safe for the time being.”

Echo hums in response, sounding not entirely pleased with his answer though he can’t really blame her. Her eyes drift over him and when he finally raises his own to meet her gaze he finds she looks nearly as tired as he feels. “Caris extended an invitation last night,” she tells him after a moment. “She asked if I would like to join her clan for a hunting trip to the north.”

She casts her eyes away from him and pauses, before adding, “It would be a month or more I’d be away.” The words surprise him, not because he had expected her to stay with him forever but because maybe it doesn’t hurt as much as it should to think of her going. She’s still staring at her feet, waiting for him to say something, but he’s hollowed out with nothing else to give. 

“Are you going?” he asks eventually, and that wasn’t what she had wanted him to say he knows but it’s all he’s got. Her eyes come back up to him, filled not with the cool calculation she usually carries in them but with something hotter, something more real. 

“Yes,” she says finally, firmly, and he wonders when she made that decision, if it was last night when he was fucking another woman or right this moment when he didn’t ask her to stay. He wonders if he will regret not fighting for her later. Right now he mostly feels relieved though, at the prospect of some time away from her to figure himself out again. There is guilt there too, always close when it comes to Echo, but guilt is nothing new to Bellamy. There isn’t much more to say after that, and Echo stands a few seconds later though she hesitates to leave. 

“When the hunt is over, I would return to you.” 

She says it softly, and it is probably the most vulnerable she has ever been with him. He wishes he could make this right for her but he doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing at all. Her warrior’s face slips back over her features after a moment and he hates that he’s responsible for that but it doesn’t stop him from letting her turn from him to walk away.

He watches her go, watches the empty street a long time after that, until the door opens behind him and Octavia joins him on the stoop.

“So Echo left huh?” she says lightly, but he knows his sister better than to take her tone at face value.

“There’s a hunting party,” he says lamely and Octavia glares until he sighs and runs a weary hand across his face. “What do you want me to say here O? It’s not like the two of us had forever written in our future.”

“And you and Clarke do?” she asks, cutting right to the point. Most days he’s glad that Earth has turned his sister into the warrior she’s become, simply for the fact that it has helped her to survive this long. Some days though he longs for the girl she was back on the Ark, young and naïve and not so angry, not so hard. He only misses that girl when she’s saying the things he doesn’t want to hear so it’s probably not fair of him to feel it, even if he does.

“Can we not do this now?” he asks instead of trying to avoid the question entirely, knowing she would never accept his sidestepping. “I haven’t slept and we’ve got an eight hour ride ahead of us.”

Octavia is still as stone beside him and for a moment he thinks she’s going to force the issue, but then she nods tensely and pushes herself back up from the stoop. “I packed your stuff for you, and as soon as someone can force Miller out of bed we’re hitting the road so don’t go anywhere.”

“Thanks O,” he says sincerely, grinning at her until she breaks and smiles back, though she rolls her eyes at him while she does it. She kicks her boot against his thigh too, just a nudge of affection, before heading inside and the edges around his heart feel a little less jagged for it.

True to Octavia’s word the rest of their party stumbles out the door soon after, in various states of wakefulness (Miller still looks half asleep honestly, his dad’s hand on his shoulder guiding him away from walls and other obstacles). His sister is the last one out, both their packs slung over her shoulder, and he grabs them before she can protest, throwing his arm around her in their place. She grumbles a little but doesn’t actually put up a fight, even slings her own arm around his back when he presses a kiss to her hair so he knows she’s not really that mad at him.

They’re at the stables soon enough, saddling horses and securing the gifts from the other clans in the wagon that carried their own offering here, and it all feels so normal again that last night is starting to seem like a dream. He grits his teeth against the temptation to let his mind wander back into it, and while picturing Echo’s face before she walked away this morning helps, pathetically not even that is enough to completely distract him and so instead he focuses on tightening the strap of his saddle and checking to make sure the blanket under it is positioned correctly. In fact he gets so busy trying to keep busy that it takes him a moment to notice when the chatter of the group around him dies out to an almost eerie silence. When he does notice he turns around half expecting to see a grounder army ready for war.

What he finds instead is no less terrifying, and this he has no weapon against. 

Clarke is standing in the dusty path a few yards away, a pack slung over her back and determination in the jut of her chin that almost hides how nervous she looks. Bellamy feels a hand on his back and cuts his eyes to the side to see Miller watching him with some concern. Octavia is behind him and he doesn’t even have to look at her to know what her expression is, she’s radiating all her twisted up emotions around her like a cloud. Kane is once again struck speechless, though he looks like he might actually be fighting back a grin.

For what feels like an eternity no one moves or speaks, and when it all gets to be a little too much he breaks the silence though his voice is rusty. “Clarke. What are you doing here?”

She takes a moment to answer but when she does the world shifts with her words. “I thought maybe that it might be time to come home.”


End file.
